


roll over, beethoven

by poisongardens



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Record Shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisongardens/pseuds/poisongardens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today is Friday and John knows himself well enough to tell that he's secretly waiting for him to show up. And who can blame him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	roll over, beethoven

 

 

Part 1

He's been coming in practically every Friday and sometimes Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays too for the last… thirteen weeks. It's getting to the point where it feels weird that they see each other so often but only in John's record shop during business hours, which has John thinking up semi-innocent reasons for them to spend time together under different circumstances. More than once he's decided he's going to use one of them and just ask him already. Every time he's about to do it he's overcome with a sudden and acute fear of being found out wanting to spend time together, which is kind of the plan anyway.

Today is Friday and John knows himself well enough to tell that he's secretly waiting for him to show up. And who can blame him? This Sherlock fellow is nothing short of a delight. He's sweet and charming and funny in a way no one else really is. Everything about him is in a way no one else really is. John has tried to do that thing that he does, figuring out stuff about a person or a place just by looking at it – _observing_ – but he figures that, too, is something only Sherlock knows how to do.

He does show up, looking around the shop as he steps in, no doubt reading all kinds of facts in invisible little clues everywhere. He glances at John and smiles a little, makes his way over to the desk.

Sometimes, when he comes in, he does this, comes over to talk to John before he heads over to the classical section. He's usually looking for some specific record, a rare recording of some orchestra's version of some concerto or other. Helps him relax, John happens to know, listening to music. Composing helps him think.

Today is one of those days, it would seem. Today goes like this:

“Hello,” says Sherlock.

“Hi,” says John.

“How… are you?”

“I'm… great. Fine, yeah. Great. You?”

“Good, thanks.” Sherlock points to an undefined spot in the ceiling. “It's… With The Beatles, no?”

“Ah, didn't know you knew about The Beatles.”

“Mm, very clever,” Sherlock mumbles, amused, John can tell.

“Mhm.”

“I do live in England.”

“Ah, yes. That is true.”

Sherlock smiles at the counter top.

“I'm gonna have a look,” he says gesturing towards his usual corner.

“Oh, yeah, good. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Sherlocks says, then adds over his shoulder. “I'll be sure to ask you if I need any guidance in the… overrated sixties bands-section.”

“You know what, I take it back. You're on your own.”

Sherlock gives him a low laugh and John decides to try and make that happen again. Quickly, he changes the record right in the middle of Don't Bother Me, replacing it with the first thing he finds that can be considered classical music.

“Very nice.” Sherlock nods, not looking up from the stack of records. “Didn't know you knew about Chopin.”

John laughs.

“All for you. It's my bad, you know, maybe The Beatles are, uh… a _bit_ too progressive for you.”

“Mm. I'm sure that's it. I've just gotten so used to, you know, _actual_ music.”

“Oh, you are a snobby bastard.”

Sherlock looks down, seems to be thinking for a second. “Tell you what,” he says, bringing the record he's been looking at when he comes over. “You should hear me play some time.”

John opens his mouth, very nearly gasps instead of saying something.

“Oh, do you play?” he asks then, putting the record in a bag and Sherlock's money in the till, handing him way more than the right amount of change.

“Mm. The violin. I'm in an orchestra.” He pauses, glances at John, down at the counter, back at John. “You should come to one of our concerts.”

“I- yes, that's…” John looks at him, grasping for words, hoping against hope he's appearing calmer than he actually is and just the right amount of flirty. “That'd be great. Maybe I will.”

“I'd love that.”

He'd _love_ that.

“I'm sure you'd enjoy it,” he adds.

And then he fucking _winks_ at him. Who does that? It's fucking hot.

John just stands there for a while after he's gone, repeating what just happened in his head several times before moving on to sort through a stack of records, still dwelling on the recent scenario. What does it mean? Did they even decide on anything? Who's to say. Not John.

He closes up shop and decides he definitely just got asked out. He's not sure if they're actually going on a date.

 

Part 2

It's Saturday, and it's a slow one, but somehow Sherlock manages to show up just when one of the only three customers of the day is paying for her gift-wrapped LP. John gets so nervous he forgets to recognize that he's showing up two days in a row. He also forgets how to string together proper sentences, apparently. Sherlock comes over, stands looking over the desk at the mess behind it, drumming his fingers on the counter top. John is now entirely sure he must have noticed the way words keep falling over each other on the way out of his mouth and the blush heating up his face. He's probably smirking just a little, but John can't be sure, not daring to look at him.

Pretty soon he's going to have to. The customer is almost leaving. Okay, okay, now she's leaving. John looks at Sherlock.

“Hello,” he says, sounding almost normal.

“Hello.” He looks _so good_. “I'm, uh… not really here.”

“Oh, right.”

“I just wanted to let you know, I… have a concert, tonight. If… you want to come.”

John misses a beat, two beats. “Tonight?”

“Tonight, yes.”

Just say yes, why, why isn't he saying yes? “Why didn't you tell me yesterday?”

Sherlock looks like he wants to laugh.

“I don't know, really. I'm telling you now.”

John smiles, feeling his nerves ease up a little. “Yeah. I'm glad.”

“It's at eight. What time do you close?”

“Uh, six.”

“Okay. I could pick you up then.”

John does not stop smiling. “Yeah, sure.”

Sherlock nods. “All right. Good. I'll see you… then. I mean, I'll pick you up.”

“Yeah. I'm… looking forward to it.”

They look at each other.

“Me too.”

He looks as if he's about to say something more, but then he turns and leaves, cloak swishing around him. Yeah, it's a date.

 

Part 3

Or is it?

It is five minutes past six and John does not know if he's going on a date. Five minutes later he's almost completely sure that he's not.

Someone is running towards where he's standing on the doorstep of his shop.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Sherlock almost shouts when they're within earshot of each other.

“Oh, don't worry ab-”

“I'm so sorry,” Sherlock cuts him off, out of breath when he stops in front of him, leans in and gives John's cheek a quick kiss.

John could have fainted. “That's all right.”

“I got held up at the morgue,” Sherlock tells him, an apologetic look on his face.

“The morgue?” John asks as they start walking, smiling, feeling slightly dizzy.

“Long story. Business related. Well, not business, exactly.”

“I see.” He pauses for a second, then asks, “Do you do anything… I don't know, normal? Like a normal person?”

“Ah…” Sherlock pretends to be thinking, then shakes his head. “No.”

John laughs. “I thought so.”

 

Part 4

He's gotten John one of the best seats, the bastard. John is so overly charmed by this strange man who, as it turns out, is an absolute gentleman, that he's about one violin solo away from falling head over heels in love with him.

He was never really one for classical music but Sherlock's fingers move to create the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, his tall body swaying, and John never wants to listen to anything else.

 

Part 5

“So.” Sherlock smiles that little smile of his, looking off to the side. “Was it so terrible?”

“Truly awful,” John jokes. “Didn't any of you consider learning a _real_ instrument?”

Sherlock laughs. It's so obvious, John thinks, he _knows_ I loved it.

“No, I loved it,” he tells him. “Absolutely loved it. Fantastic.”

Sherlock opens his mouth, can't seem to find the right words right away. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. Thanks for inviting me.”

A moment passes.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Sherlock asks then in a hushed mumble, eyes shining.

“Yes, please.”

Outside the sky has fallen dark. The streets of London make for a perfect strolling path. John looks up at the blue-gray sky, then glances at Sherlock.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Have you been flirting with me for the last thirteen weeks?”

Sherlock definitely smirks now. “Thrilling that you've been counting.”

John grins. “So you have.”

A pause. “Yes, I have.”

“I knew it.”

“Oh, did you?”

“No, I didn't,” John laughs.

“I actually thought you did.”

“Really?”

“Look, your classical selection is… unimpressive, to say the least.”

“Ah. Thanks.”

“ _Why_ do you think I come by your shop all the time?”

John says nothing for a second.

“Is it for the cute guy behind the counter?”

“Yes.”

John laughs, _again_. 

"So, uh," Sherlock says. "What do you know about solving crimes?"

 


End file.
